


Homecoming Coda

by Laylah



Category: Infinite Undiscovery
Genre: Community: areyougame, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capell arrives in Burgusstadt one afternoon with no fanfare, no escort, nothing but the clothes on his back and the flute in his hands.</p><p>[prompt: <i>courting - he would do this properly</i>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming Coda

Capell arrives in Burgusstadt one afternoon with no fanfare, no escort, nothing but the clothes on his back and the flute in his hands. He shrugs and mumbles when Vic asks how he got back after cutting the last chain, flinches and studies his boots when Kiriya asks if he's seen any of the others, blinks and looks surprised when Edward offers to have a room prepared for him in the castle.

"Really?" he says. "Thanks! Uh. I mean...I don't have to do any...Liberator stuff, or anything, right?"

"Why wouldn't you -- never mind," Edward says. "No. You don't have to do anything. I'm just -- just glad you're here." He reaches out, and Capell flinches again, but when Edward just rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, Capell smiles a little. It's a sweet smile, awkward, and something flutters under Edward's ribs.

He doesn't let himself dwell on it, busies himself instead with making the preparations: a room aired out and made ready, in the same wing as his own; a feast, as best the kitchen can manage on such short notice, with special attention given to the sweet course. The more mundane responsibilities of his post will have to wait, for all that Kiriya needles him. Edward hasn't felt so energized, so _alive_, since they won that last battle together. It was...easier, he supposes, to bear it when he lost Capell; at least it didn't feel pointless the way it had when Sigmund died. At least he had a chance to say goodbye. But it ached all the same, walking away from him, and the hurt had been buried under responsibility but not gone. Not until now.

Edward watches Capell scrape up the last baked-apple syrup off his plate, before the servants can come around to clear the last dishes away. He's smiling, without meaning to, without having to force it, without any twist of bitterness to it, more easily than he has in years. "I hope you'll stay for a while," he says. He's prepared for the answer to be no, but it seems only polite to -- no, he _wants_ to offer.

"That'd be great," Capell says. He smiles sheepishly, looking up through the fringe of his hair. "I think it'll be a while before Aya stops being mad at me."

"What?" Edward says. He sets his fork down. "Have you been to Fayel already?"

Capell nods. "It was really nice for...a little while," he says. "I mean, I guess she missed me. But I sort of still can't do anything right around her." He fidgets in his chair. "And then, um, I didn't tell her I was leaving. ...I guess I'm still better at running away than anything else."

"Well," Edward says, "I don't think the fate of the world rests on whether you go back to her." _So you don't have to_, he almost adds, and only stops because he realizes abruptly that he'd be sorry if Capell wanted to after all.

"R-right," Capell says. "You...don't mind?"

Edward shakes his head. "You're my friend," he says. "Stay for as long as you like."

That night Edward dreams about Capell. It isn't the first time. It isn't even the first time for that kind of dream; he's had them more than once in the last two years. There's something more awkward about it, though, waking up aching and needy in the dark and knowing he _could_ go find Capell, if --

Edward rolls over. The idea is ridiculous. He's not going to think about it.

Over the course of the next week, Capell settles in, and Edward gets used to having him around -- to having his company at mealtimes, to hearing the sound of his flute drifting up through the open window, to the way Vic constantly has news about what Capell said this morning or did this afternoon. Edward finds himself jealous, when Vic talks about the things they've done together while he was busy. He catches himself trying to draw Capell's attention to the ways he's been working to make life better for the unblessed, or the ways that their help has been invaluable since Veros fell. He pays entirely too much attention to the myriad petty ways he can make Capell's...visit...more pleasant.

Capell, for his part, seems confused by the warm reception -- apparently it only took three days in Fayel before Aya's patience wore thin, though he speaks fondly of those three days in a way that leaves little doubt of his reasons. Edward had almost forgotten what it felt like to be so jealous of someone he wanted to hurt them. It isn't a pleasant feeling to revisit. He grits his teeth through it, and tries to steer the conversation elsewhere when the subject comes up, and as the days pass Capell mentions Aya less often.

By the time a month has gone by, their routine has become comfortable, familiar. This is enough, Edward tells himself, although he has too-vivid dreams more often and sometimes even the smallest things -- the way Capell laughs when he's risked a joke and had it well received, or the way the sun catches his hair when he leaves the castle in the morning -- are enough to make Edward's breath stutter and heart race.

"You should do something about it already," Kiriya snaps one afternoon when Edward has let himself get distracted yet again listening for the sound of Capell's approaching melody from outside.

"What?" Edward says. He flushes hot from his collar upward. "What are you talking about?"

Kiriya rolls his eyes. "You _have_ the chance," he says, and two years ago Edward wouldn't have been able to hear the hurt in his voice -- now either Kiriya is more forthcoming or else Edward is better at reading him, and it's all too easy to feel his loss, his fear that Savio might never awaken. "Don't be a fool. Take it."

"Kiriya," Edward says. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll find --"

"That's all I had to say," Kiriya interrupts. "If you're quite through with this frivolousness, your majesty, I'd like to talk with you about last week's meeting with the stonemasons for Castle Prevant."

Edward sighs. "Of course," he says. "We'd need to raise taxes to make any substantial progress rebuilding, wouldn't we?"

By that evening he's decided that Kiriya is right. He usually does, though he tries not to say so any more often than necessary, since it's probably one of the few ways to make Kiriya even _more_ insufferable than usual. But it's true: Edward has a chance. Whatever else, Capell is alive, and here with him, and seems to be happy. He ought not let cowardice keep him from ever asking.

And if he's going to do this, he's going to do it right.

He reorganizes his schedule to allow him time to leave the castle in the afternoons; by no small coincidence, the walks he takes bring him to the plazas and street corners where Capell has chosen to play. He stays to listen and offers his compliments. When an opportunity arises, he asks after the inspiration for the new melodies. Capell tells the audience one afternoon that the song he's just played for them is called "The Ballad of the Generous King," and Edward stammers an awkward, tongue-tied thanks.

Blacksmithing is more difficult now than it was before Veros fell; shaping metal is hard, frustrating work without a lunaglyph to help give shape to the idea in his mind's eye. Nor does it help that the design, a flute case for a traveling musician, is more delicate than the weaponry Edward does best. Still, he's _made_ swords for Capell before; that wouldn't have the same meaning to it. It takes him three days' worth of attempts before he comes up with something passable, and even then it's not so elegant as he would like -- but the silver is hammered thin and even, and his hands have been steady enough for at least a little scrollwork along the edges. Capell still seems impressed when Edward explains it was his own work.

In the evenings, they sit together in the castle's parlor and talk about the news they've had from other corners of the kingdom, or how their friends fare. Sometimes Edward will read to Capell from one of the books in the castle's library -- Capell never learned to read well enough to really enjoy it, apparently, but he listens intently and asks for more until Edward has talked himself hoarse. And sometimes...sometimes it looks like he might be able to read the look on Edward's face just fine.

One of those nights, Edward sets his book aside once Vic's gone off to bed. "Capell," he says. "Are you happy here?"

Capell blinks like the question surprised him. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, why wouldn't I be, right?"

"I'm glad," Edward says. "I'd like it if you stayed here. With me."

"S-sure," Capell says. "You make it sound so serious, Ed."

Edward gets up. "I am serious," he says. His throat feels parched. "You don't have to answer me right away. I know it's a lot to ask --" and he falters as Capell stands, too, and takes a hesitant step toward him.

"You want me here," Capell says slowly, "_with_ you." He takes another step closer, watching Edward like he's nervous.

That makes two of them. "Yes," Edward says. He reaches out, slowly, and Capell doesn't pull away. Instead he looks up, meets Edward's eyes, leaning forward just slightly -- just enough --

Edward leans down and kisses him. Capell's mouth is warm, soft, and he makes a quiet sound of surprise before he kisses back. It ends too quickly, Capell pulling back, and Edward's heart is pounding.

Capell smiles up at him, and it's a nervous smile but it reaches his eyes all the same. "I think," he says, "I think...I'd like to give it a try."


End file.
